


Sleep well, young King

by PocketPrompto



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mild Blood, Self-Hatred, feelings of failure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 16:42:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17922527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PocketPrompto/pseuds/PocketPrompto
Summary: Gladiolus, Ignis, and Prompto return to the throne room once the sun rises over Insomnia.





	Sleep well, young King

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! This is a very ouchy, very self-indulgent thing I wrote based on a twitter poll that [Tierciel](https://twitter.com/TIERCIEL/status/1100100312440946690) made and it got me thinking SO, here ya go! Sorry :D

Gladio didn’t know what to expect.

The last Iron Giant went down with a heavy blow from his greatsword, screeching loudly into the stale air of the eternal night. He was prepared to mow down an entire army, to slaughter any daemon or MT who dared interfere with Noctis’ duty, but nothing happened. 

The ground didn’t split with the telltale pool of black ooze that indicated a daemon trying to claw its way towards them. No soldiers rappelled from drop ships or stormed the Citadel gates. It was quiet, save for the sounds of his own panting and the anxious clicking coming from his left where Prompto was fiddling with the chamber of his revolver. He often liked to open it, count his bullets, pop it back, and start the cycle all over again.

Then it happened.

A rush of air that burst from the Citadel, threatening to topple the trio over but Gladio planted his feet and the other two men huddled against the Shield, letting him protect them. Letting him fulfill his duty. It didn’t last long, only a few seconds perhaps, and then the air went still once more and so did Gladio’s heart.

He couldn’t explain it, but there was suddenly a weight in his chest and bubbling, boiling, acid in his gut that made Gladio think he was going to choke on it.

“Is that…?” Prompto started, but his words trailed off. Gladio turned to look at the gunslinger and found him staring at the black sky. Except, well, no, it wasn’t black anymore. It was...brightening. It now looked to be a deep blue and Gladio was overcome with thoughts of late night video game marathons and trips to the arcade, standing guard while his Prince and Prompto played machine after machine, only stopping when they had top marks in every single game.

He thought of countless days spent in the training halls knocking Noctis on his ass and helping him back up only to knock him on his ass once again until one day  _ he _ was the one on his ass and it was the proudest he’d ever been in his life. Well, second to the day his Prince returned as King, and donned his raiment with a confidence he’d never seen before.

Gladio shielded his eyes when the sun rose over the horizon, blinking hard and trying to focus on the ground, willing his vision to adjust to the sudden light. He almost forgot how bright the sun could be. It seemed so long ago now that he saw his last sunrise, sitting on the edge of a haven while Ignis cooked and the kids slept in. Ten years is a long time.

“Do you think...Noct is…?”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

Gladio is brought out of his head by Prompto and Ignis’ conversation and he realized he’d been staring at the ground for quite some time. He lifted his head and turned back to see the two of them approaching the Citadel steps. He didn’t know if his body was moving on pure instinct at that point but he caught up with them and walked in front, ever the shield, ever the leader, when Noctis wasn’t around.

Gladio didn’t know what to expect.

He knew, of course, what Noctis had to do. He explained it to them all at that last campfire, through choked back tears. Noctis was chosen to purge the scourge from their lands. His life, in exchange for Eos’. But, and there’s that damned word again sparking hope in Gladio where he should have stomped it out like the last remaining embers, there was still a chance that Noctis could be alive. He didn’t know how, or why, but maybe Gladio’s prayers to the Astrals had been heard all along and they’d stride back into the throne room to find Noctis alive and well.

_ What took you guys so long? _

Strangely enough, the Citadel still had power despite Ardyn’s death and the complete lack of magic in the air. That was the other thing that had Gladio feeling so wrong. Usually, he could feel Noctis’ magic like a second skin, clinging to every little piece of him and swirling deep in his veins. There was a pull whenever the armiger was used, when he warped, when he filled flask after flask to stock their arsenal. But now his blood ran cold and there was no warm fuzzy feeling under his marred skin.

They took the elevator up, Prompto keeping one hand hovering by Ignis just in case, even though Ignis hadn’t needed assistance in years and could sense danger before the rest of them could. But still, Gladio thought it made Prompto feel useful so no one said anything.

Instead, he watched the numbers climb and climb. How many times had he come this exact way? How many times had he taken this elevator up to throne room on the heels of his father and the King? How many times had he escorted Noctis to his father and stood guard while the two of them shared a meal or discussed politics? It used to be so easy, comfortable even, a routine he could perform with his eyes shut. 

But there was no comfort here now. No feeling of honor or duty, no, his heart was lead and weighing him down so hard he swore he could hear the elevator’s hydraulics whining in protest. 

A bell chimed, indicating their arrival, and Gladio stepped out first, letting his feet carry him down the hall and to the large, ornate doors that once used to intimidate him.

_ “Behind this door sits a very important man, Gladiolus. Do you know who that man is?” his father asked, staring down at the boy before him, still soft and squishy and not hardened by the burden of his birth. _

_ “Uhm...the King?” Gladio answered, though his voice was timid, and peered up at his father. _

_ “Precisely. And do you know what my job is?” Clarus pressed, one hand resting on the door handle. _

_ “You’re a Shield! You protect the King.” Gladio was more confident that time around, even offering a gap-toothed smile. _

_ “That is correct. And now that the King’s heir has been brought into this world, do you know what that means for you?” _

_ Gladio shook his head and fiddled a bit with his hands, his eyes trained now on the way his father was pushing open the door. _

_ “You are to be Prince Noctis’ Shield. It is your job to protect the Crown prince with your life, should the occasion call for it. Which means this will be the most important room you will ever set foot in. Come now, Gladiolus. It’s time to meet your charge.” _

Gladio didn’t know what to expect, but it sure as hell wasn’t the sight of his King sitting slumped over on the throne that was three sizes too big for him, with a sword protruding from his chest. 

He froze where he was, holding his arm out to stop Ignis and Prompto from rushing towards their King, their charge, their  _ friend _ . 

“Describe it to me.” Ignis said, voice clear but if they heard the waver in it they didn’t say anything.

“Noct, he...he’s…”

Gladio shook his head and stared down at the ground. He couldn’t bear to see him like that. To see his lifeless body and empty eyes. That meant failure. If a Shield was witness to their King’s death, then they did not fulfill their duty, for it should be the other way around. Because if a King see’s his Shield dead before him, then he knows they did everything they could to protect their King, even if it cost their own life.

Prompto pushed past Gladio and stopped, a soft gasp escaping his lips.

“Prom-”

“He’s dead….He...He’s really dead.”

“Oh for bloody—”

Ignis charged through Gladio’s outstretched arm and strode forwards until he reached the first set of stairs that led up to the throne. 

“Ignis, wait!”

Gladio caught up to him in no time but his steps faltered when they reached the first landing. It was hard to tell from the door but this close, he can see the blood dripping down Noctis’ chest and the way it pooled on the seat of the throne, trickling down the front. 

“He’s got...He’s got a sword through his chest. And there’s blood.”

Gladio choked out, firmly rooted where he stood. He refused to ascend the second set of steps. 

When Insomnia Fell, hunters and scavengers that survived the destruction of the city had went through the Citadel first, attempting to take what they could and assess the damage. Word eventually got back to Gladio that Clarus was found impaled by a sword, dead and hanging from the treaty signing room. 

Gladio let himself mourn the loss of his parent but he was proud, because his father stuck by his King and he performed his duty up until he was killed for it and that was not something to be sad about. Clarus did not have to watch his King die, he did not have to find him afterwards and deal with the body.

“We must remove him, Gladiolus. We cannot let our King sit here any longer. He deserves to be laid to rest with the rest of his family...with the late King and Queen.”

“I  _ know _ ! Just...just give me a minute.” Gladio snapped.

Prompto had never made it up the first set of stairs. He was turned away, facing the doors, head buried in his hands and sobs wracking his body. Gladio wanted to yell. He wanted to punch and kick and scream and beg the Astrals to take him instead. He would gladly take a million swords to the chest and die an honorable death if it meant Noctis could live and the sun could rise on  _ his _ face, rather than Gladio’s. Because Gladio was born to die. He was brought into his world for the sole purpose of protecting and defending Noctis with his life, just as his dad was brought into this world to do the same for King Regis.

Except Noctis was also born to die. He was chosen by the Crystal to trade his life for all of Eos and no amount of training and loyalty could have prepared Gladio for that truth. His life as a Shield was always meant to be short lived, for his duty was to carry Noctis far enough to do  _ his _ duty. It just so happened that that duty was to die for the greater good.

He hadn’t realized he was crying until Ignis’ hand squeezed his shoulder, warm and solid, yet not comforting in the slightest.

“I’ll do it...turn away, Gladiolus.”

“Ignis—”

“Do not argue with me. Turn away.”

And so Gladio turned his back to his King and everything in him screamed failure. He willed himself to disappear right then and there. He challenged Ramuh to strike him down where he stood and turn him to ash so he could feel something other than pure, unbridled anger towards himself and towards the Gods for making Noctis shoulder their burdens.

He heard the slice of sword against flesh and then metal clanking against aged marble. Selfishly, he wished he had been the one to go blind and found himself envious of the advisor. He didn’t have to see their King, pale and drained of his blood, drained of his life, being held up only by the force of a sword through cracked ribs and soft flesh.

“I cannot carry him, Gladiolus.”

“I’ll do it.”

Gladio took a deep breath and turned around, seeing the sword gone and Ignis holding Noctis up by the shoulder to prevent him from tumbling forward and onto the ground. Gladio almost barked a bitter laugh at the sight, if only because if he ignored the blood and the large gaping wound, it looked like Noctis was sleeping.

When he reached the throne, he slid one muscled arm under Noctis’ legs and the other cradled his back. He lifted him easily, holding him firmly against his chest as he descended the steps. Tears pricked hot and painful in the corner of his eyes but he stood tall and walked slowly down the stairs with Ignis by his side until they reached the bottom and Prompto joined them, following them out to the hallway.

And when they had a formal funeral for him a week later with the entirety of what was left of the Crownsguard and the Kingsglaive in attendance, Gladiolus did cry, and he mourned his King and his friend. Even when everyone left and it was just him and the filled hole in the ground, he sat by his side and dug his fingers in the dirt and he apologized for not protecting him, though he knew it was futile and childish.

When the sun began to set, Gladiolus stood up and pressed a kiss to his hand, then placed it on the temporary slab of wood with Noctis’ name and title carved into it.

“Sleep well, young King.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Find me on Tumblr!](https://pocket-prompto.tumblr.com/)   
>  [Or on Twitter!](https://twitter.com/pocketprompto)


End file.
